


Unsung Melody (Mine for Safekeeping)

by Frea_O



Series: Mine for Safekeeping [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, Genetically Engineered Beings, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 21:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13152693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frea_O/pseuds/Frea_O
Summary: It made a sick sort of sense for Kasius to breed Quake, Destroyer of Worlds. The other donor, though, is where things get sticky.





	Unsung Melody (Mine for Safekeeping)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fandomnerd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomnerd/gifts).



> Written for the marvelous fandomnerd and ohladybegood, who were totally willing to talk to me about this in the middle of the night and feel all of the feelings. Title from _Waitress_.

No matter how hard Jemma Simmons stared at the screen, the results didn’t change. Nor did the greasy feeling of horror that threatened to consume her entire stomach. It wasn’t possible. _Couldn’t_ be possible—or shouldn’t be, at any rate, as living in a realistic computer simulation, assisting an actual possessed man whose skull turned to flame, and going to the future had taught Jemma that perhaps telling science that something was impossible was now merely throwing down the gauntlet. But this, this couldn’t be real.

Completely unaware that Jemma was perilously close to hyperventilating in front of her screen, the baby in the center of the table, currently wrapped in Coulson’s jacket, slept on.

“Simmons?” Coulson’s voice drew her gaze away from the screen. He had a concerned, paternal look on his face, but it didn’t hide the genuine curiosity. “Did the results come in? Is Daisy right? Is the genetic material from her?”

Genetic material. Science. Jemma could focus on science. “Yes,” she said. “The DNA matches up. Genetically, they took enough material from Daisy that she would legally be considered his birth mother.”

Coulson let out a long sigh. “Right. Well, we suspected it might be a possibility when we found the baby. Do the results say who the other donor—or donors—are? Other inhumans?”

“He said I was pretty,” Jemma said before she could stop herself. Her voice sounded empty, which was funny. Hollow was the last thing she felt. If anything, she’d been stuffed full of too many emotions, and they had tangled themselves into a messy ball in the center of her chest and clung there, threatening to suffocate her.

Coulson gave her a wary look, obviously wondering if this was a trick question. “You are. But who is he, in this case?”

“Kasius. He said I was pretty. I thought it was that woman—Sinara—I thought she was simply jealous and using that against me because she didn’t like me. But it turns out—it turns out—” The words stayed stuck in her throat, probably caught up in the sticky web of emotion. She squeezed her eyes shut to really focus on the sounds around her, the hum of the equipment she would never take for granted, the infant on the table breathing, Coulson’s boots as he stepped over to get a look at the screen.

She knew he saw it, for he simply said, “Oh.”

Jemma kept her eyes closed. In the processing lab, when they’d made their daring escape, it had seemed obvious. Kasius was desperately looking to sell something valuable, Daisy was the most precious thing he’d owned. So the baby with the dark hair and Daisy’s eyes on the table, that could only mean one thing, really.

“It was bad enough when it was just Daisy,” he said. “No, not just bad. Awful. He bred her. Like cattle.”  

“Not just her,” Coulson said. He tilted his head and studied the baby. “Is it too soon to tell you that he has your nose?”

“Coulson,” Jemma said, torn between absurd laughter and tears. But that was all she _could_ say.

“Yeah, it felt a little soon. Come here.” He pulled her into a hug, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like ‘there, there.’ Jemma hated that it worked. And she hated that his offer of tea worked just as well.

The minute he stepped out of the lab, the baby began to wriggle about in place. His little arms waved as he mewled pitifully. “Oh, no.” Jemma dashed away her tears and hurried over to the table. She knew frightfully little about babies, outside of what she’d learned in her biology texts. And she’d outright ignored any childhood psychology lessons because surely she’d have some warning when she was about to have kids, plenty of time to study up. How absolutely foolish she’d been.

The baby opened his mouth and began to wail. “No, no, no,” Jemma said.  “Shh. It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re—you’re fine. Look, you’re in the jacket and it’s nice and warm and it smells like Coulson and he smells nice, doesn’t he? Like wintergreen and—oh dear.”

Maybe he just wanted to be held. Maybe that was it. Even though she had no idea what she was doing, she awkwardly levered a hand underneath him and scooped him up, careful to hold his head the way Coulson had.

The baby only wailed louder.

“Think, Jemma, think,” Jemma said, since she was alone and anybody who judged her for talking to herself would receive a severe reprimand. “He can’t need changing, Coulson’s just seen to that. He’s probably tired? Or unused to this place? Or…”

“He sounds hungry.” Daisy strolled in, a plastic shopping bag dangling from two fingers. “We’re back, and we have formula. Once again, Daisy Johnson, saver of the day, at your service.”

“Oh, thank heavens,” Jemma said, turning desperately toward her, and then it hit her: this was genetically their baby. They had a child together.

She had a son with her best friend.

Daisy faltered a little, pulling up short as Jemma continued to stare at her. “Simmons? Is everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I—yes, everything’s fine,” Jemma said, even though it clearly wasn’t. She had no idea how to even begin telling Daisy what she’d found, so she focused on more important matters. “You said you have the formula? You made sure to get the best kind?”

“I checked reviews. God, mommy-bloggers are terrifying.” Daisy began to unload the contents of the plastic bag. “May went to scope out the place and see if anything’s still livable. We might be able to set him in my old quarters until we can see to something more permanent.”

“They need to be absolutely clean and dust-free,” Jemma said. “Do we have any hypoallergenic bedding? We’ll need to acquire some—”

“He came from a future where I’m pretty sure people ate actual kibble. He’s probably got more antibodies in his bloodstream than we do.” Daisy finished unloading the bag and held up the carton of formula for Jemma to read the ingredients. She bit down an impressed comment about Daisy’s correct use of antibodies for once, though it of course sent her thoughts racing. The baby was from the future. _Did_ he have the correct antibodies? At least the formula ingredients checked out.

“Make sure it’s the right temperature,” she told Daisy. “Not too hot, or he’ll—”

“You know what? Let’s trade.” Daisy took the wailing infant from her easily, like she’d been around babies all her life, cuddling him close to her and murmuring. He immediately settled. Probably, Jemma knew, because she’d been stiff and ramrod straight holding him. It must have been like being held by a plank.

Daisy followed her to the kitchen. Mysteriously, Coulson wasn’t anywhere to be found even though he’d promised to fetch Jemma a cuppa.

“So,” Daisy said, holding the baby in one arm so that he could wrap his impossibly tiny fingers around her thumb, “how bad is it, Doc?”

“I—I beg your pardon?” Jemma asked, pausing in her preparation of the formula.

Daisy gave her a strange look. “I was only asking if it’s true. If I’m genetically his—well, his you-know-what.”

“His biological mother? Yes, the DNA confirmed that you are.”

It was only because she’d known Daisy for years that Jemma saw the way her jawline tensed, and the quick breath of shock. But it was only confirmation of what they’d all suspected. Kasius had been so insistent on protecting this child in particular.

He would only take such care with the genetic offspring of Quake, Destroyer of Worlds.

Jemma hated that title.

Now Daisy relaxed her jaw. “Well, we all knew it was coming,” she said with a crooked smile that felt absolutely humorless. “Any clue who the, ah, the father is? He’s clearly someone handsome. This kid is destined to grow up and break hearts.”

“Yes. About that.” It was amazing that her hands didn’t shake as she finished heating the formula. “There’s—well, there’s not exactly a father.”

“You don’t have DNA records of who it could be? Or it’s just some weird future tech? He’s already part alien from me, so if he’s even more alien than I thought, just give it to me straight.”

“No, we’ve accounted for all of the baby’s DNA. The other donor just isn’t male.” Get it over with, her brain shouted at her, but Jemma still had to take a deep breath. “It’s me.”

“Huh?” Daisy asked, raising her head. “What’s you?”

“The other parent. Kasius used a sample from me and one from you and created—well, him. Sinara told me once that he found me pretty and I guess that was enough for him to…” Jemma trailed off and interlocked her fingers in front of her, realized exactly what that looked like, and flushed to her hairline. “Though I didn’t think it would be enough for—well, enough to inspire him to _breed_ me.”

“Simmons, don’t take this the wrong way,” Daisy said, a funny look on her face. “You’re very pretty. Gorgeous, in fact, but I think he may have…wanted your brain? Because let’s face it, the kid’s not getting the smarts from me.”

Jemma set the bottle down with a little too much force so that a squirt of formula splattered over her hand. “That’s ridiculous, you’re one of the smartest people I know.”

“Thanks,” Daisy said, and then finally she seemed to get it, for she went pale and sat down. Hard. The baby in her arms let out a protest, and she looked at him. “Uh.”

“Yes,” Jemma said.

“This is—he’s—”

“He is.”

“Ours.” Daisy’s eyes were a little glassy as she looked up and met Jemma’s gaze. “We have a kid together. You and me. Not you and Fi—” She broke off mid-word, wincing.

Fitz. Jemma hadn’t given him a single thought since the DNA results had rolled across her screen. Right. In the life plan, babies had been a future thing. Something to be shared with…Fitz. Scribbled into the life journal right behind weddings and finding a perfect house. Not after an impromptu jaunt to the future, and not with her best friend.

“This does appear to be our baby,” she said, her voice sounding a little strange to her ears.

“What the hell do we do with a baby?” Daisy asked.

“The usual, I expect.” For some reason, seeing Daisy’s uncertainty gave her a clarity. Jemma moved over to sit next to her and held out the bottle of formula. “There are a lot of studies that go back and forth on the importance of breastmilk, but since neither of us are lactating, we haven’t much of a choice.”

“Sure. Yeah. Right. Lactating. No, definitely not doing that.” Daisy shifted, taking the bottle and holding it so the baby could eat.

“You’re good at that,” Jemma said.

“At what?”

“With him. You’re a natural. He calmed right down when you picked him up.”

“There were babies in St. Agnes all the time. They’re pretty simple. Figure out why they’re crying, and they stop. For the most part.” Daisy squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m a mom. This is so weird. _You’re_ a mom. Somehow that’s even weirder, even though we’re moms to literally the same baby.”

“It…is unexpected, yes,” Jemma said. She reached out and touched the crown of his head, gently, marveling at the soft tufts of hair. Dark, like Daisy’s. She herself had been bald in all of her baby pictures. Also jaundiced and colicky and clearly unhappy, none of which seemed to apply to this child.

Oh, dear. She would have to inform her parents. Technically, they were grandparents now. Surely they deserved to know that.

But she didn’t want to think about that, so she studied the baby instead. Coulson had been right: that was definitely her nose, but a miniature version on somebody else’s face. The shape of the eyebrows and his eyes, though, that came entirely from Daisy.

“How much are you freaking out right now?” Daisy asked.

Jemma decided to tell the truth. “I don’t know.”

“I’m not giving him up for adoption,” Daisy said. Her voice was quiet, but Jemma knew that tone. “I lived that life. I don’t want the same life for—for my child.”

That meant keeping the baby in their lives. Raising a child in the face of what they did every day, not knowing if they would return from the framework, from the future, from the everyday grind of SHIELD operations. Even without that aspect, raising a child was a major responsibility, and an even bigger life change. He was an inhuman, Jemma realized. Someday he would have powers.

He would need Daisy.

“But that’s on me,” Daisy said, her voice shaking a little. “That’s my choice. I understand if you don’t want to be a part of it, you don’t owe him or me anything because some creepy dude from the future wanted to mad science a kid out of our genetic soup. You don’t have to take this on.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jemma said before she knew what she was thinking. “If you’re raising this child, of course I’ll be here with you. We may not have had a choice about how this all started, but we’re in this together. All three of us, apparently.”

The baby pushed away the bottle, stretching his face away and grimacing. It really was remarkable to see her best friend in his expressions, Jemma thought. She’d seen Daisy make precisely that face whenever Coulson cooked spinach.

Daisy laid the baby against her shoulder and patted him gently on the back. “Do you ever stop and think about how messed up our lives are?” she asked.

“Every day.”

“Glad it’s not just me. Here, you take him, he just burped. I think he’s ready to sleep.”

“Are—are you sure? Every time I’ve held him, he’s cried.”

“You’ve got this.”

Passing the baby over felt a little like handling an armed bomb to Jemma. It was only after Daisy laughed and told her to relax that she unclenched her jaw. Mercifully, the baby closed his eyes and fell asleep as Daisy predicted, letting out tiny wheezing noises. “See? It’s not so bad,” Daisy said, still looking a little pale.

“He’ll need a name,” Jemma said. “And there’s so much reading to be done. I don’t know the first thing about babies and I don’t think you do, either. We’re not even equipped to take care of him at the moment. We don’t even have a sanitary place to live, or a pediatrician for him. He’ll need immunizations, and a birth certificate, and we’ll have to decide which one of us is officially considered the birth mother.”

Daisy pulled off her beanie and twisted it between her hands. “Let’s just—let’s start with a name. We can figure all of that stuff out later. God, this is hard. I’ve never named anything before. I never even had a pet rock.”

“I had a cat named Hubble, after the telescope,” Jemma offered. “I don’t think that’s a good name for him, though. We could name him after one of our fathers?”

“Cal or Craig?” Daisy frowned, as Jemma blinked in surprise that she knew her father’s name. “I definitely don’t want to name him after my father. There’s—well, there’s a lot of history there that I don’t want to pin on a kid. I want something hopeful, you know?”

“Something that says ‘look to the future?’”

“Maybe not exactly that,” Daisy said, “as technically we did pull him out of the future and it was kind of a nightmare.”

Jemma watched the infant in her arms, marveling as his little chest rose and fell. There seemed to be some kind of feeling—affection, maybe, or protective instincts people felt around small things because they were cute—building in her, but she didn’t want to think about that.

“Antoine,” Daisy said, suddenly.

“Hm?” Jemma raised her head. “Antoine? You want to name him after Trip?”

“We could call him Tony so it’s his own thing. Tony Simmons-Johnson.”

“Johnson-Simmons, it’s alphabetical.” It felt right, Jemma realized. Trip would be tickled pink to find out he had a namesake, and they’d both loved him very dearly. She touched the baby’s cheek, wonderingly. He wrinkled his nose. “Tony.”

“He needs a middle name. How else will he know he’s in trouble?” Daisy’s grin flashed. “You pick. I came up with the first name.”

“Bellis,” Jemma said after a moment of thought.

Daisy blinked at that. “Is that a name?”

“Yes.” A genus, precisely, but Jemma had no interest in confiding that. In her first days after Maveth, learning that Skye had become Daisy, she’d spent hours staring at the cheerful flowers Daisy had brought for her. _Bellis perennis._ The English daisy. If they’d been mashed together to form this child, it made sense that he should carry something from both of them, and a scientific name of a daisy suited that perfectly.

“If you say so,” Daisy said. She stroked the baby’s head. “Antoine Bellis Johnson-Simmons. What a mouthful. Poor Antoine. I’m going to have to teach him to fight off bullies someday, I can already tell you that.”

“Tony,” Jemma said firmly. “His name is Tony.”

In her arms, Tony slept on.

* * *

“You named him _what_?” Coulson asked.


End file.
